


Serendipity

by rufeepeach



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, Office AU, One Night Stand AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-05-01 00:29:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5185322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rufeepeach/pseuds/rufeepeach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Belle French moved to Storybrooke hoping that a new town and a new career would help her become a new person. Starting with an entirely uncharacteristic, anonymous drunken one night stand the night before starting work. Belle sneaks out and intends for it to end there, but upon meeting her new boss, Mr Gold, for the first time, she realises things might not be so over after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prompt verse from my Tumblr 2500 follower prompt-a-thon, hence the short(ish) chapters. Enjoy!

Gold didn’t make a habit of picking up women in bars.

In large part this was because his generally hateful, misanthropic personality discouraged pretty young women from approaching him in the first place. Those who did were almost always after a sugar daddy, a man with wealth and influence who could get them places. 

When Gold drank, he drank alone. Which was why when, late one Sunday night, he was sat innocently in the Rabbit Hole nursing his scotch, he was more than a little put out when he felt a body sit herself down next to him.

“This seat taken?” she asked, and he grumbled a response. No eye contact, no indication of any sort of interest, that was the way to go. Teenagers today had the right idea: a scowl and a pair of little white headphones sent the perfect message. “Good,” she announced, to no one in particular, settling herself properly and ordering a beer. “You come here often, then?” she asked, not giving up, and Gold sighed with annoyance and looked his new irritant in the eyes.

A stunningly gorgeous young woman looked back. She was a lonely man’s vision, all tumbling chestnut curls and bright blue eyes, cheeks flushed from the drink and red lips slightly parted. It had to be the scotch because he stared for a long moment, but at least he was glowering, so his silence couldn’t be taken for idiocy. “Do you mind?” he snapped, when his brain function returned.

“Not at all,” she replied, brightly, and he grimaced. For all she was pretty, she was clearly obtuse and worse,  _perky_.

“There are many other seats,” he growled, returning to his drink. She didn’t take the hint.

“I’m aware,” she replied. “But I’m new in town and I thought it’d be nice to talk to someone.”

“Talk to someone else.”

“My choices there are limited,” she pointed out, reasonably. “There’s the couple who’re getting pregnant in the back right corner, the man by the pool table who frankly looks like a potential rapist, and a group of girls over there who are definitely underage. Not fun options for drinking buddies.”

“I’d avoid Keith,” Gold agreed, sourly. “The man at the pool table. You’re right: he’s got a rather unsavoury reputation with women.”

The woman stared at him, then winced, “Thanks for the tip.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“That answers that question, then,” she said. “You do come here often: you know the regulars.”

“I know everyone in this town, dearie,” he replied. “I needn’t drink with them to know their… proclivities.”

“You don’t know me,” she pointed out, “Or my… proclivities,” she winked, saucily, but there was an intention behind her remark. It was as if she could sense his bitter malaise, his boredom with everyone and everything. This town was full of tedious, vaguely corrupt people who hated him, and while Gold prided himself on his ability to inspire fear and loathing in all who knew him, he’d run out of people to scare.

“You’re making that less and less of an option,” he snarled, and to his horror and delight, she laughed. 

“True,” she agreed, smiling, and he must have been lonely and miserable because her smile felt like the sun coming up. Too much scotch, he figured, loosened the mind to stupid, ill-fated poetry. He ordered another round, and included a second beer for his companion. “Thank you,” she said, with genuine gratitude and surprise. “See, I was right to choose you to drink with.”

“Are you planning to tell me your name, dearie?” he replied, without commenting on her assertion.

“No,” she replied, smirking in a way that seemed to laugh at him but gently, fondly. What right did he have to her fondness? What right did she have to present him with it. “I want to break your record, you see,” she explained then. “You say you know everyone, and you seem pretty down about it. So tonight, I’m your mystery friend.”

“I don’t have friends,” he remarked, dryly, and took a sip of his scotch to mask the burn of that truth.

“Now you do,” she decided. “Because I know no one and you know everyone, so we’re a perfect team.”

“You’re very drunk, aren’t you?” he said, and she gave another of those musical if tipsy giggles.

“Several shots of tequila before I had the guts to approach you,” she confided, in a low voice. “Takes some dutch courage to make a fool of yourself in front of the hot older guy at the bar.”

Now that certainly was tequila talking, he thought: no one in this world or any other had ever called him  _hot_. Even his ex-wife had stopped short of false compliments to his looks. But then, his ex-wife had never complimented him on anything.

“What should I call you, then?” he asked, charmed by her candour and her pretty, tipsy lies and her pretty face. If he was stuck with her, he’d at least enjoy her while he could.

“Lacey,” she decided, after a moment. “Call me Lacey.”

“Jacob,” he replied, spurred by some terrible and unknown impulse to use his real name. It wasn’t as if anyone else knew it, after all: it revealed nothing, and yet somehow it felt like revealing  _everything_. They shook hands; her touch on his skin sent sparks racing through his body. “So, Lacey,” he said, “What brings you to the worst bar in the worst town in Maine?”

“I got a new job,” she replied, before taking a long drag of her beer and swallowing. “I figured I’d try working for a while to fund my MA.”

“MA in what?” he asked, and she smiled with a charming touch of embarrassment.

“Librarianship and archival studies,” she admitted. “I’m dull and boring and love books, mock me as you will.”

“I’m a sometime antiquities dealer,” he admitted, his tongue further loosened by drink. “I can hardly judge on what people choose to take an interest in. And bookworm or no, you, my dear, hardly seem boring.”

She accepted the compliment with a raised eyebrow and a lascivious wink, and Gold felt something stirring lower than was appropriate. “What job did you get, then?” he asked, desperately trying to ignore the openly flirtatious looks she was casting his way, and how much skin was on show from her short black skirt and all but see-through white blouse. Her bra was black, he noted, and wondered whether it was a matched set.

“Secretary,” she replied. “Temporary hire with an option to stay on. I figure if I like it here there’s worse things to be doing for a year or two.”

For a moment - the briefest moment - Gold remembered something about a new secretary his office manager had hired to fill in for a woman on maternity leave, but dismissed the notion as soon as he’d thought of it. There were several small legal and accountancy practices in Storybrooke, not to mention the local newspaper and government. Lots of places that needed secretaries: anyone could have hired her.

And anyway, what were the odds he’d bump into his new hire in a bar the night before she was due to start? He downed his drink and set the thought aside entirely, along with its vague notions of sexual harrassment. She was beautiful, and flirting, and sitting ever closer.

He put his hand on her bare knee: an offer, a dare, a test to see how far she’d take this. She didn’t move it away.


	2. Chapter 2

Belle didn’t make any sort of habit out of picking up strange older men in bars.

But then, this week was a whole load of firsts: first move outside Boston since the eighth grade, first night in her new apartment, first day in Storybrooke, Maine. Why not add her first one night stand to the list as well?

Jacob was gorgeous, all soft dark eyes and warm smile, although she doubted he’d describe himself as either soft or warm. The wide berth he was given in the bar indicated a certain antipathy toward him held by the rest of the patrons, and Belle had felt a familiar tug of sympathy for that. She’d been bullied for much of her adolescence for being a bookish foreign outsider after her family move from Melbourne, and she understood how it felt to be ostracised.

It helped he was easy on the eyes, and could wear a suit with impressive, understated style. Although Belle couldn’t be sure whether this attraction was born more of genuine interest or of loneliness and tequila. 

His hand was on her knee, and Belle knocked back the rest of her beer for Dutch courage. “You, ah… you wanna get out of here?” she asked, trying to sound coy and self-assured, her heart hammering in her throat.

“I… are you sure that’s what you want, Lacey?” Jacob checked, and oddly enough, it was the sound of her false name on his lips that released her of her worries. She didn’t have to be cautious, careful, clever Belle tonight: she could be someone else entirely, vivid and daring, brave. And Belle had always wanted to be brave.

“I am,” she confirmed, and to prove it she leaned in and pressed her lips to his, confirming her desire and her willingness in one fell swoop. He was very, very still for a moment, and she wondered if she’d overstepped her bounds. 

She teased his lips a little, trying to convince him, and then it was if a dam had broken: his hands fisted in her hair, mussing her artfully distressed curls, and he kissed her deeply, urgently, as if he were trying to devour her whole. Belle moaned into the kiss, surrendering to him, to his lips caressing hers, his tongue exploring her mouth, his hands holding her face in place.

“Then let’s go,” he rasped against her lips, and Belle nodded, following him to the exit and out, starting down the street.

“Your place or mine?” she asked, shivering a little in the cold outside despite the liquor buzzing and warming her body. He took his coat from over his arm and wrapped it around her shoulders, a gesture somehow too kind and chivalrous, too intimate for a meaningless, anonymous tryst. 

“Mine,” he decided. “I’m assuming yours is full of moving boxes?”

“It’s… yeah, a bit of a mess,” she slurred, and leaned into him, grateful when he held her upright. “Is your place nice?”

“It’s good enough,” he shrugged, and she giggled and hiccuped.

“I bet you live in a palace,” she told him. “Your suit’s designer, after all. You probably own half the town.”

That drew a dark, delicious little chuckle from his lips, that sent a tingle of want down her spine, straight to her pelvis. “Darling, you have no idea.”

A few more blocks and they were out of the commercial buildings and onto residential streets. The houses here were large, imposing, and Belle was impressed: she’d been kidding about the palace.

They stopped outside what had to be the biggest house yet, and Jacob didn’t seem inclined to show off, even when it became clear this was their destination. He pulled his key out of his coat pocket, his hand straying close to her hip in his search, and the heat of his body near hers made Belle warm all over again. She was sobering up a little in the cold air, but she couldn’t find any trepidation or regret. She’d moved to Storybrooke to reinvent herself, and this was something Belle never would have done, for all Jacob was exactly her type. Lacey, however, could do this every night for all anyone knew.

He opened the door and gestured her inside, an unspoken question in his eyes. She could go now, she thought, and he wouldn’t pursue her.

She stepped over the threshold, and into the dark foyer. Jacob lit a lamp, and Belle could see that the house was gorgeous, all warm dark wood and stained glass in the windows, the walls and surface covered with interesting paintings and trinkets. “You have a beautiful home,” she manages, and she hears him sigh behind her.

“There’s a cheesy line in there about it being prettier for having you in it,” he said, “but I’m terrible with one-liners.”

“You’re doing well enough so far,” she told him, and then, purposefully, she kicked off her heels and stood before him, a foot shorter in her stocking-feet, smiling up at him. “I don’t think I’d manage the stairs in those,” she whispered. 

His eyes searched her face, and she wondered how long it’d been since he’d had a woman in here, how long since someone had kicked off her heels and invited him to his own bedroom. He seemed so wary and so disbelieving, and for a moment Belle felt sad for him, sympathetic, and wanted to draw him into a hug. 

Instead, she shrugged his coat from her shoulders, and grabbed his tie in her fingers, dragging him in for a searing kiss. They staggered backward, each knowing this far better than they knew how to talk to one another, strangers in words but partners in action. He took the lead easily, kissing her deep and rough, tongue and lips and teeth, until she was breathless and trembling. 

His mouth moved from her lips across her cheek, down to nibble on the corner of her jaw, eliciting a gasp. He ravished her neck, pinning her to the wall and dragging his hot, wet mouth up and down the column of her throat, lavishing her with kisses and bites until she knew she’d have bruises in the morning. 

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” she breathed, and he grunted into her neck.

“So’re you,” he replied, and she giggled, breathlessly, as he finally set her down and stepped back. 

“Bedroom?” she asked, hopefully. He nodded, and took her hand, another intimate gesture at odds with the tenor of this night. He lead her up the stairs quickly, gracelessly, his cane thumping on the stairs in a hard, staccato rhythm. Belle stumbled at the top, alcohol sending her head spinning, and he caught her. “Woah, there,” he murmured, “Come on now, Lacey, no swooning on me.”

“You make my knees weak,” she giggled, and he sighed, shook his head, and kissed her again. His arm stayed around her waist as he lead her into a beautiful, maroon and cream-styled bedroom with a lavish four poster bed. “Damn,” she murmured, “you have some style, Jacob.”

She turned to look at him, and saw his eyes nearly black staring at her, devilish intent casting his face with a delicious kind of darkness. “Take off your dress?” he half commanded, half begged, and the combination made her shake.

Slowly, conscious of his eyes on her, Belle dragged the zipper down on her sparkly blue dress and shrugged it off her shoulders. It fell to the ground with a little thump, pooling around her feet, and suddenly Belle was standing in his bedroom in only her black bra, panties and stockings.

She was suddenly very, very thankful she’d chosen underwear that matched, and stockings instead of tights. Belle chortled at that thought, and swayed to one side, cocking her hip and putting a hand on her waist in the cockiest, sexiest pose she could think of. The whole situation was so bizarre, so unlike anything she’d ever done before tonight, that she felt for the first time like a whole different person, as if she really were Lacey the barfly, to whom sex was casual and even funny, and who never took anything seriously. Serious, committed, romantic little would-be librarian Belle was consigned to the back of her mind.

“Now you,” she teased, when he’d looked his fill. Jacob’s eyes raked over her, as physical as any touch, and she shivered with desire under that hot gaze. He looked like he wanted to devour her whole; Belle felt more than happy to let him. 

He stilled, hands on his tie, and she shook her head, tsked. She stepped close to him, and he held still like a deer in headlights as she undid his tie and pulled it slowly, teasingly from his collar, dropping it to the floor. She made quick work of his buttons, undoing them one by one, running a hand over his chest on her way down, pressing a kiss to his sternum. She pulled his jacket off first, and his shirt shortly after, baring him from the waist up.

He was slight, that much had been obvious under his suit, but lean and muscled, wiry and strong, with a smattering of hair over his chest that made her want to bite him and see if it’d mark. “Damn,” she murmured again, and met his gaze with a smirk, her lip caught between her teeth.

“Not… not a young man anymore,” he murmured, ashamed, and Belle realised to her horror that he thought she was laughing at him.

“You’re gorgeous,” she told him, honestly. “You’d… shit, you’d have done it in the dark with your shirt on, wouldn’t you?”

“I’m not much to look at,” he told her, stiffly, as if the evidence to the contrary weren’t literally staring her in the face. “You needn’t bother with flattery.”

Belle snorted at that, and shook her head, “You must think you are far uglier than you are,” she told him. “Because from where I’m standing I scored tonight.”

She leaned in, and pressed a hand to the front of his pants, cupping him. He was hard already, which was flattering, and she smiled up at him. “I’d say you agree.”

“You’re a very beautiful woman,” he told her, hoarsely, and Belle felt heat prickle through her and pool between her legs at his barefaced honesty. She smiled lazily up at him.

“Oh, you can keep saying that,” she all but purred, and saw him swallow. 

All that arrogance, all that bravado and grumpiness from the bar was gone, and beneath she saw a deeply troubled man, worried and vulnerable, in desperate need of someone to touch him with affection. He probably lived in this huge house alone, and Belle couldn’t imagine what that kind of isolation could do to a person.

She took his hand, and kissed the fingertips, one by one, and then the knuckles. He drew a sharp breath, and she brought his hand down her body, and slid his fingers under the elastic of her panties. The tequila had made her brave, but his vulnerability had made her sure. He wouldn’t drive them on, so she would.

“See,” she breathed, as his fingers breached her folds, and he felt for himself how wet she was, how ready, for him. “You’re gorgeous, Jacob,” she told him. “And I want you, badly.”

He gave a helpless little growl at that, and his free hand caught her waist, dragging her close and devouring her mouth once more. Her hand released his, coming up to tangle in his soft hair, and his fingers worked alone, pressing deep and rubbing. He searched a moment, trying to find her clit: when he did, he pressed his thumb over it and rubbed relentlessly, dragging the wetness from her opening up to cover it, making her tremble in his arms and mewl against his lips.

“On the bed,” he rasped. She nodded, and he withdrew his hand from her panties as she backed toward the bed and lay back across it, scooting up to rest her head on the pillows. He shed his pants of his own accord, bringing himself level with her, resting between her legs, his cock still covered by the silk of his boxers.

He lay between her open legs, and reached up, tenderly, to release her hair from its up-do. He threaded his hands through her hair, combing it out, releasing it over the pillows. “Your hair is beautiful,” he told her, and she smiled.

“Thank you,” she blushed, his smile too warm, too fond, for an anonymous one-night stand. 

“Your breasts are beautiful too,” he told her, and pressed a kiss to her sternum, his hands reaching beneath her as she arched her back, seeking the clasp. When he found it, he released her bra and pulled the straps down her arms, casting the garment aside. His eyes widened at his first sight of her bare breasts.

“Not a lot there, I’m afraid,” she laughed, a little awkwardly, resisting the urge to cover her modest little a-cups with her arms. He frowned at her,

“Beautiful,” he said, stubbornly, and then as if to prove it, he set to work kissing them all over, nipping the undersides to make her gasp, sucking her nipples into his mouth and swirling his tongue until she moaned and bucked her hips, aching and wanting. 

“Oh, yes,” she gasped, “that’s… that’s good… yes…”

He pulled his head up with a devastating grin, and her hands reached for her hips, shimmying her panties down her legs as he knelt to let her, and throwing them aside. “You too,” she ordered, her eyes on his tented boxers, “off with them.”

He nodded, mutely, and got off the bed to wriggle out of his underwear, leaving them where they lay. He stood, dumbfounded and naked, his cock red and aching against his stomach, as Belle gave him a saucy smile and slid her stockings slowly down her legs, giving him a show.

He all but pounced on her when she was done, grasping her knees and bringing them  up to bracket his hips as he positioned his cock at her entrance. “Hold on,” she panted, “No, hold on, do you… do you have protection?”

Jacob cursed under his breath, and nodded, “Sorry,” he mumbled, reaching for the bedside drawer, “got carried away.”

“So did I,” Belle giggled. “It’s okay, just… be quick about it?”

He nodded fervently, and slid the condom into place as fast as he could before returning to his place between her legs. 

He entered her in one smooth thrust, and Belle arched at the pleasure of being stretched, of having him inside her. He returned his fingers to her clit and her dripping folds as he set up a slow, deep rhythm, and Belle keened as every thrust inside her was accompanied by a rub of his fingers.

Jacob’s face was contorted with effort, and Belle was close, so close, when suddenly he grunted and came, shaking all over and groaning against her throat.

“Sorry,” he panted, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she murmured, a little disappointed but resigned. It had been pleasurable, even if she hadn’t climaxed, and at least he’d used protection.

He pulled his softening cock out of her, and she wriggled, wondering if she was supposed to leave now, or if they’d fall asleep. She had no idea how a one night stand was meant to end.

But, apparently, it wasn’t over yet. Jacob had balled the condom up in a wad of tissue and thrown it into a wastebasket beside his bed while Belle fretted, but now he was back, and he had a determined look in her eye. “You didn’t come yet,” he told her, as if she didn’t already know. “That’s not fair.”

“It’s okay,” she shifted, uncomfortable under his eyes, as if he was blaming her for not faking it sooner or something. But for once, it seemed she’d misread him, because he shook his head and smiled.

“No, Lacey, it’s not,” he told her, and kissed her lips briefly. For a moment, she wanted to hear him call her by her real name. But she pushed that thought aside: tonight was for this and only this, and real names only brought on consequences neither of them would want.

He surprised then then: he scooted himself down her body and kissed her breasts, again, and then her ribs and her stomach, and her hipbone, and then he was between her thighs, his mouth poised above her folds. Belle tingled with fresh interest, seeing where this was headed, and she felt herself dampen at the thought. Belle shifted on the bed impatiently. She’d never had a boyfriend volunteer to eat her out, it had always seemed like a chore, and she didn’t know the etiquette to begging a man she barely knew to go down on her.

He held her in suspense for just a moment before delving in, and Belle, already close to the edge, moaned deeply when he kissed her folds with an open mouth, and sucked her clit into his mouth. He laved and lapped at her, while two of his fingers teased her entrance, and it wasn’t long before Belle’s hips were bucking into his mouth, and her channel clenched around his fingers, and she came hard and suddenly, seeing stars.

She expected him to stop then, to come up with a cocksure grin and fall asleep beside her. Instead he kept on going, fluttering his tongue over her clit and fucking her deeper with his fingers, not allowing her pleasure to fade, and Belle found herself already mounting higher and higher.

“Yes,” she panted, “yes, yes, oh god, there, yes…”

He scraped his teeth over her clit and made her gasp, and he added a third finger, and she came, again, out of nowhere and more intensely than the last time, and screamed aloud.

He kept lapping at her as she came down, and when she glanced lazily down at him there was the expected cocky grin, and she shuddered afresh at the sheen of her juices coating his chin. She dragged him up by his shoulders to kiss him, and they lay that way for a long time, naked and kissing languidly, coming down off the high.

—

Belle must have slid into satiated sleep, because the next she knew light was streaming in through Jacob’s high windows, and she had no idea how much time had passed.

She was still wrapped in Jacob’s strong arms, and it was with a sad kind of resignation that she gently untangled herself from him, and stood on her own wobbly two feet. Her head ached with a hangover, and she glanced at the clock: 6am.

“Shit,” she cursed under her breath: her new job started at eight, and here she was, in a stranger’s bedroom, hungover with only last night’s dress that seemed tacky in the morning light. That was another first, she thought: first walk of shame.

She looked over at Jacob, and sighed. Maybe they’d bump into one another again, in better circumstances: it was a small town and things happened, right? Maybe they could even be friends.

Or maybe it’d be intensely awkward, and she’d never speak to him again. The thought made her gut twist, but it didn’t matter: carefree women who treated sex lightly and had one night stands didn’t ruminate like this in the morning, Belle was sure.

She dressed quickly and quietly, foregoing her stockings in an attempt not to wake him, and left as fast as she could. She walked barefoot down the street, and in the light of day - and with her phone GPS for guidance - she managed to get home without meeting anyone, a fact for which she thanked every deity she’d ever heard of.

Belle had an hour to get to work, so she showered quickly and changed, and managed to down a cup of strong black coffee to wake her up before heading out. When she arrived at her new job, she thought she looked more like a professional secretary and less like a mess with a hangover and no idea who she’d slept with the night before. No one seemed to be judging her, anyway, and when she met the office manager, a woman who introduced herself as Kathryn Nolan, she shook her by the hand and smiled without reproach.

"Gold and Sons is a small but full-service law firm, as you know,” Kathryn said, as she walked Belle down the hall to the main office where she’d be working, “You’re here taking over for Verna, who’s off on maternity, so you’ll be handling the overflow from Mr Gold’s personal assistant. Don’t worry,” she smiled, at Belle’s faintly worried expression, “Jefferson handles the bulk of his complicated work, you’ll mostly be doing routine office tasks and administration to take the load off him.”

“Okay,” Belle nodded, as they reached her desk. It was right outside a door which, rather imposingly, had “Mr J Gold” embossed on the plaque on the front. “Wouldn’t this be his seat, then?”

“Oh, there’s an antechamber in there before Mr Gold’s personal office,” Kathryn assured her. “The younger Gold, Mr Cassidy, allows anyone to walk right in, but his father keeps his distance as far as possible.”

“He sounds like a handful,” Belle joked, and Kathryn nodded.

“He’s… a character,” she said, diplomatically. “He’s in there now actually, just got in. Jefferson said he wasn’t to be disturbed, but he likes to meet the new hires, so I’ll see if he’s free.”

Belle waited a long moment at her desk, and busied herself setting up the little supplies she’d brought with her: some hand cream, her photo frame of herself and her mother from before she’d started college, and her little pot of pens.

“She’s right out here,” Kathryn was saying, and Belle heard a cane tap on the wooden office floor before she saw him. She looked up, smiled professionally, extended her hand to meet her new boss… and froze.

Jacob blinked back at her, bemused and angry and stunned all at once, and Belle gaped for just a second. 

She’d had sex with her boss.

She’d had sex with the head of the firm that’d hired her, without experience, before her first day.

She’d picked up her new boss in a bar and lied about her name, and left without saying goodbye.

She was so, so  _screwed_.


	3. Chapter 3

It was twenty minutes before Gold’s hands stopped trembling.

He’d been played.

There was no other explanation: Lacey, or Belle, or whatever her name really was, had played him for a fool. And he, desperate, lonely little man that he was, had fallen straight into her trap.

It had been pathetic how easily she’d tricked him: he’d all but fallen into her lap the moment she sat down next to him. All it had taken was a short skirt, a smile, and a kind word, and he’d bared his neck to her and allowed her to sink her teeth into his flesh. He’d been disappointed when he’d awoken to an empty bed, but remembering her tidbit the night before about a new job, he had assumed she’d simply overslept, and done him the courtesy of not waking him unduly in her haste to leave. He’d entertained laughable notions of seeking her out, discovering her true identity, seeing if that tentative connection he’d felt with her, the rare affection and attraction she’d shown him, could lead to anything more.

He was a fool, touch-starved and easily lead to false hopes, for all his surefire defenses, for all his wariness. She’d crept beneath his skin without his notice, and now he was left shaking, knocked sideways, foiled and helpless in his own office, by this cruel slip of a girl. It was ridiculous; it could not be allowed to stand.

Now, likely as not, her scheme would come to fruition, and she would blackmail him in return for some sort of favour. He was an easy mark: all she’d need would be to hold his antisocial reputation and the evidence of their night together up for public inspection, and everyone would believe any story she spun. Perhaps she’d say he approached her, and threatened to sack her if she didn’t cooperate. Perhaps she’d simply play the mislead, abandoned lamb, and claim he’d used her and cast her aside.

Would it be money she was after, he wondered bleakly, or something else? Would she demand a permanent job, in exchange for her silence? Perhaps a rent reduction, or free lodgings in one of his nicer homes: he had noticed, with a pride that now sickened him, how she’d admired his palatial home. 

He could fire her, he thought, before she had the chance to say a word, while she was still new and untested and hadn’t wormed her way into his business. He didn’t know how he’d stomach seeing her every day, but he knew that he was not well liked or trusted even in his own offices. He was sure anyone would believe he’d sexually harassed and coerced her into bed if she batted those blue eyes and looked miserable. Hell, all she’d had to do was flick those eyes his way and he’d fallen under her spell.

But even as he thought it, Gold knew it wasn’t an option until she committed a fireable offence. There was too much at risk in sacking her on the spot, when he couldn’t reveal his motives.

Gold’s eyes drifted, involuntarily, to the wall that separated his office from the one next door, and the silent man within. Well, silent to him, at least. 

No, he couldn’t fire a seemingly innocent woman on her first day. But he also couldn’t imagine how he could work alongside her for the next six months.

“Mr Gold?” Jefferson, one of only two people allowed to just knock on his door, broke him out of his thoughts. “Are you free?”

He thought about lying, but decided for once against it: he’d only just settled in for the day when he’d been re-introduced to the woman who, in the light of day, called herself Belle French, and he hadn’t gotten started on anything yet. Being presented with something new to think about could only be of benefit.

“Yes,” he replied. The door swung open, and he expected Jefferson in the doorway, ready with some new case reports or a client on the phone. Instead, to his horror, was the woman herself. “No,” he said, without greeting. “Jefferson, I’m afraid I’m not free, and certainly not taking visitors.”

“This will only take a moment,” she said, and Jefferson shot him a look over her head, a look that said he was being unreasonable. Jefferson was one of the few people Gold allowed to be so blunt with him, even silently, but that was why he was an invaluable assistant: he often had a different read on a situation, and allowed Gold to evaluate before he stepped in something nasty.

“Fine, fine,” he muttered, coldly, “Take a seat, Miss…”

“French,” she supplied, uncomfortably, “Belle French, we ah…” she looked down with an awkward smile, “We have met.”

“Outside, of course,” he nodded, and watched her flinch. Interesting, he mused, almost as if she intended to pretend she hadn’t planned the whole escapade. Was that her plan, he wondered? To entrap him in some guilty, awkward emotional affair, whereby he would be compelled to give her some favour in the future out of affection? If so, she’d picked the wrong mark: Gold didn’t make decisions based on affection, not ever.

She closed the door behind her, and came to sit down on the chair opposite his desk, smoothing her knee-length skirt over her legs as if afraid to meet his eyes. “No, not outside,” she corrected, quietly. “I know you recognise me, Mr Gold. I saw it when you saw me just then.”

“I was a little surprised, dearie, to find last night’s strumpet had become today’s secretary,” he told her, with a nasty smile. He saw the colour flush in her cheeks, her eyes flashing, her hands clenching, but she held herself in check, she didn’t shout or scream. Pity, really: screaming at the boss would given him ample excuse to sack her on the spot.

“There’s no need to be so unkind,” she replied, calmly, but there was a bite of steel beneath her words. Now she met his eyes, and he wished she hadn’t: they were blue as the ocean, and hard as agates. “I haven’t done anything to you.”

“You lied to me,” he pointed out, silkily. “You sought me out, and entangled yourself in my affairs for your own gain. I’d say you’d done plenty to me already, Miss French, and it took you less than a day.”

“I didn’t seek you out,” she lied, and he shook his head, smiling a crocodile’s smile, believing not a word. “I didn’t! All I lied about was my name, and you knew that before we left the bar.”

“A good manipulation contains as much truth and deniability as possible,” he told her, softly. “You’re clever, and you barely missed a step, but you were mistaken from the outset: I’m not some foolish old man you can wrap around your little finger.”

“So that’s what you think of me?” she asked, her level tone at odds with the fires in her eyes. “That I had some grand scheme in mind to sleep with you and what? Advance to head secretary? Embezzle a million dollars from your accounts?”

“I just think it’s a little hard to believe that a beautiful young woman decides, apropros of nothing, to pick up a crippled old man in a bar,” he spreads his hands, raises his shoulders, leans back in his chair as if this should be obvious. “But wait, no, it makes perfect sense, when one realises the man is her employer, a wealthy man with his own firm, who could make her life easy with a flash of a credit card. Suddenly, all becomes clear.”

“I didn’t know who you were,” she defends, hotly, “I swear to you! What happened to you in the last six hours? Where’s the good man I met last night?”

“We are all different creatures in the harsh light of day, Miss French,” he smiled, thinly, showing his teeth. “You of all people should know that.”

“Fine then,” she muttered, shutting down, the fire doused by ice as her gaze slips from his. “Then call it that. Lacey and Jacob are invented people, who spent a make-believe night together. You and I are strangers.”

“Indeed,” he smirked. “Strangers until you decide you need something.”

“You’re a bastard,” she snarled. He shrugged, conceding the point: better people than her had arrived at the same conclusion far faster. “Listen, I have no idea what happened to you to make you this jaded, but I don’t care. As far as I’m concerned, last night didn’t happen, and I’d appreciated if you behaved the same way.”

“Or what?” Gold demanded, leaning forward, challenging and mean, testing her. He needed her to break. He needed to see the calculating, coldhearted whore who’d lead him astray last night, beneath the mask of this hurt, grave-eyed girl, who appeared as innocent as the dawn.

“Or I’ll know for certain that the sweetness I saw last night was a lie,” she shrugged, and with that one word cut him deep, destroyed his defences, left him as hurt as she pretended to be. “Good morning, Mr Gold,” she added. 

She rose to her feet and strode for the door, leaving him staring at her, impotent and angry, hurt and afraid, all the things he hated to be, all the things that made him weak.

“Good morning, Miss French,” he returned, icily. She left without a backward glance.


	4. Chapter 4

Belle’s first week passed surprisingly uneventfully after that first terrible morning, and she was both surprised and relieved to find that Gold almost never left his office. They never seemed to be in the hallway at the same time, or to bump into one another on the way to the water fountain or the bathrooms, a fact for which Belle was deeply grateful. After the things he’d said to her, the terrible way he’d assumed the worst in her, she had no desire to see or to speak to that man ever again.

The other people in the office were, thankfully, all of better nature than their boss. Belle hadn’t had a chance to really make any new friends, due to how busy the office was with a massive case that was going to court in a few weeks. 

Apparently the local Sheriff’s department was suing the town’s newspaper for slander, and there was even a murmur of corruption at City Hall, according to the documents Belle was tasked with photocopying. She pictured the Sheriff as a swaggering older figure with a face carved in stone, indomitable, at least from the terse emails correspondence in the case file, and the way everyone talked about the Sheriff in tense, quiet tones only added to the image.

When a young, attractive blonde woman in a red leather jacket came in with an appointment with Mr Cassidy, Belle initially didn’t put the two together. It was only when the woman turned, and she caught a glimpse of the badge on her belt, was Belle forced to re-evaluate the image in her head. She’d been right about one thing, though: Sheriff Swan did have a face carved in stone, and she walked like a woman on a mission. 

Belle caught the glare Mr Cassidy’s PA, Tamara, shot the other woman as she walked into the office, and wondered what the issue there was: an overdue parking ticket, perhaps? A DUI? She couldn’t imagine it was anything personal: Tamara seemed like a sweet, friendly young woman from the limited interaction Belle had had with her thus far.

It didn’t matter, anyway: everyone was far too busy with the case to talk much, and for all she was curious about human nature, Belle wasn’t a gossip. And even if she had been, she wasn’t exactly in a position to judge anyone around her. Every time she glanced up at her boss’ mahogany door, she was faced with the unwelcome memory of how badly she’d cocked this up before she’d even started work.

What would they say about her, if they knew she’d picked their intimidating boss up in a cheap bar the night before she started here? Probably the same things he’d said the next morning, she thought bitterly.

She was on a six month contract. Once it was up, Belle was moving on, out of this little town and back to a place where everyone didn’t know everyone else.

At least she’d been invited out with some of her coworkers Friday night. She’d not been told who would be there, exactly - Ruby, the intern who’d invited her, and Kathryn at least were definite, so at least she’d know someone - but she hoped she could find out a little more about the odd dynamics in this place if she got to know some of the people who worked here.

Mr Gold and his son, Mr Cassidy, didn’t share a last name, which was odd in itself. Then there was Tamara’s antipathy for their big client, and how the two lawyers in the office never seemed to meet face-to-face despite being father and son. Not to mention the pinched look on Kathryn’s kindly face whenever the woman Belle was temping for, Mary Margaret Blanchard, was mentioned.

When she arrived at Granny’s diner, the address where she’d been told everyone was meeting, she was surprised to see not only Kathryn and Ruby, but Tamara, Jefferson - a man she knew from emails but who, like his boss, seemed chained to his office - and Mr Cassidy himself, his arm slung around Tamara’s slender shoulders.

Ruby beckoned her over, and Belle slid in next to her in the booth. “Guys, you know Belle, right?” Ruby asked everyone, as she poured Belle a glass of the white wine already sat on the table. Belle saw Tamara and Kathryn at least smile and nod. Jefferson winked at her.

“The new Mary Margaret,” he grinned. “I’m sorry I didn’t say hi earlier - Gold’s got me running in circles this week.”

Belle winced with sympathy, “I can imagine he’s… exacting, as a boss.”

Mr Cassidy laughed at that, “Oh, so you’ve met him already, then?” he asked. “Good, then we don’t have to warn you.”

Belle smiled, a little awkwardly, unsure of what to say to that. This man was her boss, and the son of her boss, and the son of the man she’d slept with less than a week ago… and she had no idea what to call him outside of work.

“Belle met him on the first day, didn’t you” Jefferson said, before Belle had the chance to put her foot in her mouth. “Strode right in there, bold as brass, after he’d given her the full patented silent glare not an hour earlier. Pretty ballsy.”

“And she still has a job,” Mr Cassidy’s eyebrows rose. “Good going, newbie.”

“He, ah,” Belle tried to think of a convincing lie to cover that undeniably odd behaviour. “I think he thought I was someone else,” she finished, lamely. “He seemed very uncomfortable when we met. I just wanted to make sure I hadn’t offended him-“

“Too late,” Mr Cassidy held up his hand, “By existing in the same room as him, you already offended my father. What did he say when you called him on it?” he asked, curiously.

“He apologised,” Belle lied, suddenly defensive of Mr Gold in the face of his son’s clear antagonism. Whatever the fault in their relationship was, Mr Cassidy clearly wasn’t doing any more to fix it than Mr Gold was, and Belle hadn’t spent the night with Mr Cassidy. For all that Gold had been an asshole to her when she’d confronted him, she had to admit she’d caught him as off-guard as he’d caught her: it was possible, given this treatment, that his defence mechanism was automatic rage. And as much as she wanted to, Belle couldn’t find it in her to disregard all she’d felt she’d learned of him in the dark, before he’d closed himself off to her in the light of day.

Mr Cassidy’s eyebrows rose again, “You know, I’m not your boss right now,” he told her. “The moment we leave the office, my name’s Neal and nothing you say can be held against you. If he was a dick to you you can say so.”

“Yeah,” Ruby snorted, “This little group’s kind of the Gold Was A Dick Today support-group.”

“Okay… Neal,” Belle smiled, trying to look friendly, and Neal’s easy, open smile back was a relief. “I honestly haven’t seen anything of Mr Gold since my first morning. So he hasn’t had the chance to say anything untoward.”

“Ah, avoidance,” Neal’s smile was thin, and Tamara leaned in to his side, his arm around her shoulders. “That’s a classic. You must have gotten under his skin somehow. Nice going.”

“Thanks,” Belle looked down at her menu, uncomfortably, and was grateful when Neal’s gaze moved off her and he started chatting to Tamara, and Ruby started rattling off dinner recommendations. The rest of the evening passed easier, although Belle stayed fairly quiet through the ensuing discussion, unwilling to draw anyone’s attention again. 

Neal’s tone lost its sharp undercurrent when he discussed anything but his father, and Belle’s curiosity was almost as strong as her discomfort at being unwittingly drawn into such an intense situation. She felt an unwilling wave of sympathy for Gold, seeing how tense and hard his usually relaxed, happy son became at the mention of his name. Something had gone wrong there, terribly wrong, and having seen Gold react so badly to even the smallest issue, Belle could imagine how badly something could spiral if no one tried to stop it. 

Neal smiled a lot, far more than his father did, and he seemed especially animated when discussing his latest case. Oddly enough, that was the only time Tamara seemed quieter, especially when Sheriff Swan was mentioned.

Belle kept her mouth shut, and didn’t ask questions. She figured it was better to seem quiet than nosy, and she was already far more involved in Neal’s life than she wanted to be, just by virtue of her relationship to his father. A relationship with, judging by the knot of empathy in her stomach, was apparently less over than she’d hoped for.

The burgers on offer turned out to be surprisingly excellent, and she was surprised at how Ruby preened when she said so. “Thanks,” she said, with a broad smile, “This is my family’s place, I’ll inherit when I’m all grown up.”

“Which is why she’s slacking at  _my_  family’s business,” Neal grinned in response, “Trying to pick up some basic accounting and legal skills so she won’t run this place into the ground.”

“Hey, I’ve told you,” she retorted, defensively, “Granny said I had to, this wasn’t my fault.”

“Sure,” Tamara nodded, “And the all-night rave last year when she was out of town that nearly bankrupted her with repairs had nothing to do with it.”

Ruby just stuck out her tongue at that. “Next time you’re not invited,” was all she said, but Tamara, Jefferson and Neal laughed, while Kathryn rolled her eyes. Ruby stabbed a finger in Jefferson’s direction, “Hey, you’re already blacklisted,” she told him. “Most of the damage was caused by those teenagers you decided to sell your ‘tea’ to out back.”

Belle’s eyes widened, wondering if Gold knew his son’s friend and his trusted PA was a drug dealer. But Jefferson seemed unfazed by the accusation. “You need to lighten up, Red,” he shrugged. “Or you’ll end up looking like Granny as well as sounding like her.”

Ruby rolled her eyes at the insult, and flopped back in her seat, refusing to look at him. She ordered a second bottle of wine, and then a third, and soon Belle was feeling lighter, her head buzzing, everyone seeming funnier and friendlier after a few drinks.

They finished their meal half an hour later, and everyone paid their share and started meandering out. Belle caught Tamara at the door, her curiosity too strong to bear by now. “Hey,” she said, “What’s the deal with Neal and his dad? It just seems… a little off.”

Tamara laughed, and tossed her perfect hair over one shoulder. “Oh, honey, you have no idea,” she laughed. Belle wasn’t amused, and Tamara sobered, shaking her head. “Listen, it’s really no one’s business, but you seem like a nice girl so I’ll assume it’s concern and not nosiness, okay?”

“I’m not trying to pry,” Belle assured her, “I just… I tend to notice things about people. It’s easier to ignore once I understand.”

Tamara nodded, thoughtfully, “Okay,” she nodded, “Look, Gold just fucked up a long time ago, and he’s never really apologised. Neal’s a really chilled guy normally, you know? And he’s super forgiving, but you have to be straight with him. Like today, when you lied and said his dad apologised? You can’t do that with him. He’s the sweetest guy in the world as long as you’re honest, but Gold… I don’t know if that guy knows  _how_  to be honest. But like I said, it was like… ten years ago, now? So it’s not really my business to tell people.”

“But why do they work together?” Belle wondered. “If Neal hates him that much?”

“It’s the family business,” Tamara shrugged, but Belle could tell there was a lot more to it than that. “And Neal likes the town. He has… family here, you know? He grew up here. I guess he doesn’t want his asshole dad to drive him out of his hometown.”

Belle nodded, understanding that this was as much as she’d get for now. “Thanks,” she said, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s cool,” Tamara smiled. “Like I said, you seem nice. Just don’t tell Neal I said anything. He’d be so mad if he knew I was blabbing behind his back.”

“My lips are sealed,” Belle smiled, “Have a good night.”

“You too,” Tamara waved as she left the diner, “See you Monday!”

“Yeah,” Belle murmured, waving back, and then turned to collect her things. It was nearly seven-thirty by now, but she had a feeling - a very strong feeling - that the office wouldn’t be empty. It was a peculiar urge, strong and completely inappropriate, one she’d only felt once before, and that very recently. A feeling it seemed only one person, an almost total stranger, inspired in her. Well, she reflected, that stranger and more than a little white wine.

She approached the counter, and ordered a second burger, to go. “You still hungry?” Granny asked, eyes sparkling. Belle smiled and shook her head.

“I have a friend who’s still working,” she said, hoping it was the truth. “I figured I’d bring dinner.”

“You’re a nice girl,” Granny nodded, approvingly, and took her order. It took only ten minutes for the burger, fries, and iced tea to be ready, and Belle started back toward Gold and Sons, hoping like hell she wasn’t making a massive mistake.

One answer, she thought, she just needed to know one thing, and then she’d know for certain. And then she could drop this, leave it alone, and let the people to whom the problem actually belonged solve it, rather than getting all messed up in someone else’s already messy life.

The light under Gold’s door was still on when she reached it, but of course Jefferson - and everyone else in the office - had already gone home. She didn’t knock, so he didn’t have a chance to tell her to go away.

“What the- Miss French?” Gold frowned up at her, and for a moment his previous distrust and anger were gone, and in the golden lamplight, his tie undone, jacket off, hair dishevelled from his own hands running through it, he looked like the beautiful, kind man she remembered. Belle’s stomach twisted, lust and sympathy forming into something she didn’t like, but that was at least muted by the anger she could summon at remembering their last conversation. She brandished the food like a madwoman, her eyes blazing, her face flushed from the cold and from rushing back over to the offices. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded, when he came to his senses, but Belle refused to be deterred. One chance, she thought, she’d give him this chance to make up for last time, and then that’d be that.

“I brought you dinner,” she told him, as if it made any sense at all. “I figured… you seem like a workaholic. I didn’t think you’d have eaten yet.”

“I… no,” he blinked, confused. “I hadn’t. I was planning to heat something up when I got home.”

Belle nodded, for a moment remembering his echoing, empty, palatial house. How cold it must be there all alone.

“I’ll trade you,” she told him, “I have a burger, fries, and an iced tea. Three things.”

“So you have three demands,” he settled back in his chair, his face turning suspicious. It was an unwelcome change from the familiar openness of before, but for once he was proving Belle right: he reacted with anger when confronted with uncertainty. He jumped to conclusions. He was cagey, suspicious, and wary of the unknown. But she still didn’t think all the accusations Tamara and Neal had for him could be true, and everyone deserved a second chance. This was his.

“For the burger,” she started, “I want an apology for last time. You were cruel to me, and I didn’t deserve it.”

He thought for a moment, and then nodded, hunger or maybe the look on her face making up his mind. “I thought we were pretending to be strangers,” he said, and she rolled her eyes, leaning on the doorjamb.

“That was before I realised everyone here thinks you’re an ass,” she said. “You deserve a chance to have at least one ally around here, and I’m volunteering. If only because you’re  _ridiculously_  good in bed.”

Okay, she thought when she saw his mouth drop open, stunned, maybe Dutch courage had more than a little to do with this. One day, maybe, they’d talk without either one of them being under the influence. But if booze was what got the job done, then Belle figured it was as good an excuse as any to be honest.

“And if I refuse to apologise?”

“Then the burger, fries, and tea all go in the trash, and you lose a chance for a friend. And that’d be a shame, because I’m a really great friend.”

“You’re really drunk,” he told her, his tone and expression unreadable. “And I’m your employer, Miss French. You haven’t the excuse of anonymity this time, so I’d advise you to sober up or leave my office.”

“I’m not drunk,” she told him. “I’m just buzzed enough to realise that I don’t want to hate you. And I don’t want you to hate me.”

“And if I apologise, then what? You regret this tomorrow, and once again we’re pretending it never happened?”

“I promise I won’t regret making you say sorry in return for food,” she told him, and he nodded slowly.

“Very well,” he said. “I am… sorry, Miss French,” he said, as if the words were a strain, unfamiliar on his tongue. “I was suspicious, and unkind. Having reflected…” he sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. “You haven’t said anything, to me or to anyone else. You’re a woman of your word, and I was wrong to doubt you.”

Belle smiled, and put a hand mockingly over her heart. “That was beautiful,” she simpered, trying to hide how relieved she truly was to hear his apology. She came over to his desk, and placed the burger down in front of him.

He eyed it ravenously, and then looked up at her, eagerness warring with feigned disdain in his eyes. She flopped down into the seat opposite, and smiled, holding the bag with the fries aloft. “Now, for the other half, I’d like a promise.”

“Oh?” he raised an eyebrow, and for a moment he looked so much like his son that Belle started. “And what would that be?”

“I want you to promise to call me Belle,” she said. “Not Miss French, and not Lacey, not even when you’re trying to upset me. Belle, and you get the fries.”

“Why?” he demanded. She rolled her eyes.

“Because friends use first names,” she sighed. “It’s not hard. It’s not even a bad name. Belle. Say it. B-elle.”

He sighed, and nodded, “Please,  _Belle_ ,” he said, exaggerating her name, “Can I have my fries?”

“Of course,” she beamed and handed them over, gratified when he tucked into his meal with gusto. “You’re too skinny,” she murmured, shaking her head. “Friends feed friends who probably don’t eat three full meals a day.”

“Your final request?” he asked, somewhat sourly, and Belle nodded. This was the important one: this was where she proved Tamara right or wrong.

“For the iced tea,” she said. “You have to answer one simple question.”

“Which is?” he prompted, swallowing a mouthful of burger. Belle was amused to see he ate his meal the same way she did: shoving both burger and fries into his mouth at the same time to combine the flavour.

“What’s your name?” she asked, and he swallowed, hard, sitting back.

“You already know that,” he said, slowly, softly. “I told you the night we met. You might have lied, but I didn’t.”

“Say it, then,” she prompted. “Confirm it, and you get the tea.”

“Jacob Samuel Gold,” he said, slowly, as if unused to saying it at all. “My full name, for all your summoning needs.”

Belle snorted, a surprised laugh bubbling from her throat, and handed over the tea wordlessly while she chortled. He smirked, apparently pleased to have made her laugh. “I’m sure Jefferson has already warned you that if you say my name three times in a mirror during a full moon, I’ll appear and curse your first born.”

“Nah,” she waved a hand, “he just told me you drink the blood of virgins. Sadly, Granny’s was fresh out.”

“ _You_ don’t need to be afraid of me, then,” he teased, slyly. Belle’s mouth hung open, and she reached over the desk to swat his arm.

“I bring you dinner!” she scolded, with mock offence, “And this is the thanks I get!”

“You invited yourself in,” he shrugged, grinning as she subsided into her seat, “made demands of me, then  _decided_  we would be friends. I never said I was a particularly  _good_  friend.”

His sly smile, his gleaming eyes, his messy hair and long fingers and the lamplight and the wine, everything combined, and for a moment Belle stared at him, speechless, fighting the urge to ask if there could be certain _benefits_ to this friendship. She felt so much happier, freer, and more herself here, teasing him and laughing and stealing sips of his iced tea, than she’d felt in the two hours she’d spent with the other employees at the diner. But then, Belle always was drawn to people who were otherwise shunned, outsiders in need of warmth. Probably because she knew what it was like to feel that alone, friendless, on the outside looking in.

That didn’t explain how badly she wanted to lean forward, over the desk, and lick the stray ketchup smear from his bottom lip.

Six months, she thought desperately: in six months he wouldn’t be her boss anymore, and if they were still friends then, she could see if he was still interested in her the way he was when they met.

Six months suddenly seemed a very, very long time.


End file.
